Shadows on the Road
by ThePriestSpy
Summary: When ancient traditions find new purpose, creatures of magic seek retribution, and shadows walk the road, blood is bound to be spilled. A companion piece to 'The Path of Shadows'.


Surprise, another small story. It's a real Christmas miracle, innit?

This is just some fight-porn I've written to practice, and some more exploration of the Ionian world. If you want, you can look at this as a sort-of teaser for my Kayn story. It's a piece about one of the many obscure side characters, but reworked of course. Have a go at guessing which one it is if you feel like it.

* * *

I can hear their approach through the thicket of the forest long before any movement is visible.

The three vastaya have been pursuing me ever since I left the village. In the faint morning light, they think themselves invisible amidst the trees, but while their animal-like attunement to nature certainly makes them stealthy, their skills are clumsy and unrefined. Raw talent, however strong, can never best years of intense training.

I come to a halt. The road is a bit wider here, making for a well-suited battleground. Concealed under my black cloak, I move a bo-shuriken into my right hand in preparation. The weight of the short sabre fixed to the back of my belt reassures me, knowing I'm capable of drawing it without a second of hesitation.

All is set.

A few moments of silence pass as I take few deep breaths, focusing myself. Then, I call out to my pursuers, loud and clear.

"If you seek a fight, then show yourself now. I grow tired of this charade, and wish to be on my way in peace."

Listening closely, I hear the rustling stop abruptly. They must be surprised at being called out, which is exactly what I was aiming for. Now, we will fight on my terms.

Three thuds alert me to the assailants landing behind me. Without haste, letting my face betray no emotion, I turn around.

I recognize their scowling faces from the village market: a bird-human, perhaps one of the Lhotlan, his bare torso lined with colorful, yet vicious tattoos, a fox-human, with black-dyed tails, and a strange, bear-like she-vastaya, sporting large claws reinforced with iron extensions. They are dressed for battle, daggers hanging from their belts.

The fox-man steps forward, hatred burning bright within his slitted golden eyes.

"You strayed a little far from your grounds, don't you think, _Yanléi scum?_" He hisses at me.

I can see his hand twitch, coming to a rest on the sheath of his blade. It is obvious they are out for blood.

"I advise you, if you value your lives, back down, _now_." I warn them.

"Back down? With an opportunity like this on our hands?" The bear-woman taunts.

"You think you can just wander around in these parts, after what your accursed Order has done to our people?" the Lhotlan vastaya barges in. "Your misuse of magic threatens out very existence. Our old wither without magic, and no young have been born in so long…" He chokes up on his anger.

The foxlike vastaya, apparently leader of their little troupe, pats him on the shoulder reassuringly before facing me. "You're not Zed. But your death will certainly bring us great satisfaction. So…" With one swift motion, he draws his weapon, his companions readying another blade and a set of claws.

"Any last words?"

A sigh escapes my lips as I shrug my cloak into a more comfortable position. "If you insist on rushing to your death, then so be it."

The three vastaya fan out, slowly prowling into position around me. They wear no armor, making them light and nimble, but also leaving their pressure points entirely unguarded.

Perfect.

My former school, the Kyushoo temple, specializes in the art of manipulating the body through pressure points. A normal human body has about three hundred of these medians, each with certain positions and functions, and each one can be used for healing… or for combat. Our masters always maintained that our art was meant for healing purposes only, and that using it to harm should only be a last resort... but I had discarded those foolish traditions long ago.

In the face of Noxus armies, our traditions needed to evolve, but my masters were unwilling to accept change. Thus, I turned my back on them, and for over a decade now, I have served master Zed instead, fighting for Ionia's cause by using my skills to heal our acolytes, and to dispose of our enemies.

And right now, these three need to be taken care of.

In a burst of primal magic, the fox-vastaya dashes towards me, closing the distance between us with surprising speed as he arcs his dagger towards my throat. Feeling for the magic lingering within my tattooed flesh, I respond by dissolving into ethereal swathes of darkness, and he passes through me harmlessly. I rematerialize behind him, in one movement throwing my shuriken into the bear-woman's torso. A shudder wracks her body, and she freezes on the spot. Right on the mark.

The fox-man behind me recovers into a wide slash for my chest, but I catch his arm with my left hand, before jamming the fingers of my right hand into his shoulder. With a yowl, he drops his dagger, his arm now immobilized. Footsteps behind me alert me to the third assailant going on the offensive, so I cast my knee into the fox-vastayas stomach to keep him down.

Spinning around, I dodge just in time to avoid the Lhotlan bringing his blade down on my spine with full force. Striking only at air, the vastaya then reverses the grip on his knife with a bare-teethed growl, before striking again. In one smooth movement, I draw my own sabre to respond.

CLANG!

His blade glances off mine as I strike up wards. He staggers, and with his defense open, I follow up by driving my other fist into his solar plexus. The breath is audibly knocked from him, and with a few more hits to his side and neck, his body seizes up entirely.

Now, unlike the wild stories that most uninitiated people like to tell each other, hitting a pressure point with your hands cannot outright kill somebody. It takes a strike with a sharp blade to do that.

Left defenseless, the vastaya can only watch as I drive my sabre into his flesh with swift, precise stabs. His limbs still locked up, he is denied even his death throes, only a single pathetic whimper leaving him as he crumples to the ground. At least, his end is quick, the wounds inducing unconsciousness after only a few moments.

A roar of rage sounds behind me.

I find the bear-woman breathing heavily, her face contorted with pain and animal anger as she beholds her dead companion. In her hands is the bloodied shuriken she somehow managed to remove, leaving her capable of movement once more. How unfortunate. But one could never really be sure if the techniques worked on a vastaya the same way as they did on a human, what with their unpredictable and differing chimeric physiques.

Snarling like an animal, she charges at me. Rolling to the side, I utilizing a formidable technique that Zed taught me. Having spun into a kick, I have the shadows erupt from the limb, extending the strike into her side.

It does little to stop her, her fury granting her considerable resilience.

Then, she is upon me, throwing a flurry of long, powerful claw-swipes at me. Yet, as I dodge her attacks, her technique becomes sloppy, the fury and animal frenzy that grant her power now beginning to blind her. Soon enough, an opening presents itself.

Ducking under her next swipe, I drive my elbow into her side. A shudder wracks her body, but it is enough for me to hit her central points. Now stunned, it takes little effort to plunge my sword straight into her heart, cutting in a crescent shaped motion to properly rend the vital organ apart.

Bloody foam quickly froths up in her mouth, and as I yank the sabre free of her body, she topples onto the ground with a loud thud.

Producing a small cloth from my belt, I wipe the vastayan's blood from my blade. The whole ordeal was far messier than I'd hoped, but at the very least, it was almost over. All that was left was to deal with their leader.

Speaking of the devil, I turn around to find him slowly staggering to his feet, his arm still refusing to serve him. A heart not hardened by war would call it a pitiful sight. To me, it is simply business.

"Murder…" he growls at me then, grasping his useless arm. "That's all your Order does. That's all _humankind_ ever does. You're all a bunch of remorseless killers, blindly destroying the world around you."

"Do not accuse me, _vastaya_. It was you who chose this battle. _Now, you must live, and die with your choices_." I tell him, before sheathing my blade. Readjusting my cloak, I turn to leave.

"You dare turn your back on me?! This isn't over, you bastard!" He calls after me.

"Oh, but it is. I suggest you make peace with whatever gods you believe in."

I raise my hand, before clenching it into a fist. At the signal, the Death Mark is triggered, the shadows I'd summoned into his flesh earlier bursting from his eyes and mouth with a violent, wet '_crack_'. He falls to the ground, dead.

I turn to take one last look at the battlefield. Their corpses would serve as a message to all whom it would concern.

_Do not cross the Order of Shadows._

* * *

Hmm, the delicious edge.


End file.
